


New Life

by operahousehomicide



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Kissing, M/M, Mentions of Medic and Scout, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Past Relationship(s), Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-Gravel War, Unspecified Teams, relationship dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-27
Updated: 2017-04-27
Packaged: 2018-10-24 16:26:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10745454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/operahousehomicide/pseuds/operahousehomicide
Summary: After the Gravel War, Spy approaches Sniper with an offer.





	New Life

**Author's Note:**

> happy endings yay!!!!!!!!

Although accustomed to waiting for long periods of time, Sniper’s neck was beginning to form a bothersome crick in it. He was crouching, one foot braced flat upon the floor, his other knee folded beneath him. The muzzle of his rifle rested delicately upon the lip of the windowsill before him. Shattering the sodaglass pane had been the highlight of his day, thus far.

Sniper had set out to this particular location before dawn was a thought in the mind of the sky. It was midday now, the sun creeping steadily higher above the abandoned factory in which Sniper was positioned. Sniper was more than grateful for both a powerful scope and prescription sunglasses under the assault of the sun’s beating rays.

A bead of sweat trickled down Sniper’s brow, tracing a hot path down to his jaw over time. Hours passed. Sniper waited. He had always been good at waiting. However, he did find it more than a little irritating that his target was so bloody late. The man that Sniper had been hired to follow and assassinate had always been a stickler for punctuality, and now, the day Sniper was bringing his mission to a head, the man had decided to, for once, be late.

And late, he was. Too late for Sniper’s tastes. Too late to not be suspicious. The Australian kept one eye on his scope as he let his mind wander through the events of the past week. Nothing major had occurred. He’d simply tracked the man as usual.

Tracked him like a dingo tracked a wounded hare through the brush.

Then sun petered higher into the sky. Sniper took a brief second to adjust his position. He wondered if somehow his target had caught wind of his presence, or perhaps, had someone else gotten to him before Sniper did? From what he’d glanced over in the file had had been provided by his employers, the man he was hunting seemed to be particularly bad at making friends.

Sniper took a piss break. He ate a few crackers, took a swig of water, and pressed his face back to the scope. Still no movement within the next hour. This was beginning to become irksome. Under his breath, Sniper grumbled, “Stupid bloody spooks.”

“You should insult a man to his face, mon ami.” The accented voice drawled into his ear, and it took every ounce of restraint Sniper had in him to not just whirl and deck the man, even as a chill crawled up his spine.

How could he not have heard the man coming? Or smelled his particular masque of expensive French cologne and imported berry cigarettes?

Sniper exhaled slowly, pulling away from the scope, and turned to grimace into the man’s face.

Spy smiled leisurely.

“It’s hard to insult a man when he ain’t much of a bloke to begin with. What’s the hell’s you bein’ late?” Sniper found himself demanding, brow furrowed, knuckles whitening as he clenched his fists. Nothing got his blood pressure rising faster than the opposing team member.

Sure, the Gravel War had long since ended, a good seven or so years ago, and the teams had split, hardly keeping in contact, but still. Old feuds die hard. Even if it wasn’t your feud to begin with.

“You do not know I was late. I might have been here the entire time.” The infuriating man ignored his jibe completely, brushing it off to respond to Sniper’s question.

“You’ve never been one for much waitin’, though, have ya, Spook?”

Spy’s smile brightened, showing his perfect white teeth. Sniper wanted to punch them out of his mouth.

“Oui, that is correct. I have only been here a few minutes. I am still surprised you did not notice me. I had no cloak.” His tone was entirely too smug, and Sniper had to take a moment to breathe.

Spy continued on, as if he were completely unaware of Sniper’s irritation. “I have to admit, I was also surprised they hired you, of all people, to track me down. I believe my doppleganger, as useless as he was on the field, would have been a better choice. No one hunts a spy like a spy.”

Sniper swallowed. There was something dangerous in that honey-sweet voice of the Frenchman, even moreso than it had been when they were fighting. The thought that there was no respawn here itched at the back of Sniper’s mind, as did the memories of the hundreds, if not thousands of times the man standing before him had slit his throat, stabbed him, or otherwise ended his life.

The little curl of Spy’s lips faltered briefly, then faded from his face. “It is a shame we must reconnect under these circumstances.”

The man certainly was being a chatterbox today. Sniper licked his lips, nerves beginning to get the best of him. His mind, unhelpfully, provided alongside the memories of death, memories of the two of them, entangled in his nest, Spy’s shoulders back against the wall, Sniper’s tongue down his throat.

“Yeah. Damn shame.” The words came out unbidden, and Sniper wanted to kick himself.

Spy’s face softened a little. It was unusual, seeing the man without his infamous balaclava. He’d seen him barefaced before, but not like this. Never like this. The tanlines were even gone, faded over time.

The snick of a lighter brought Sniper back to the present. At this rate, he was going to get himself killed. He held a hand out for a cigarette. Spy obliged him. They settled quietly for a moment, each taking in lungfuls of smoke. It was Spy who spoke first.

“Are you still going to kill me, Monsieur Mundy?”

Sniper closed his eyes briefly, soaking up the acrid smoke that burned its way down his throat.

“You gonna’ let me?”

Spy’s laughter was like windchimes. Sniper caught himself smiling in return.

“Non, of course not, you silly bushman. I do, however, have an offer for you.”

“And what is it you think you have, that I want?”

Spy’s eyes glinted mischievously. Sniper watched carefully as he reached into his jacket, relaxing minutely when instead of revealing a gun or knife, Spy produced a manila folder.

“An offer at something besides this. Franz and Toby have already accepted.”

Franz. Sniper’s Medic. Toby. Spy’s Scout. Spy’s son.

“I’m listenin’.”

Spy handed him the folder. “This, plus whatever this job offered you. I have more than enough to compensate.”

Sniper opened the envelope and leafed through the papers inside. Housing details. Accommodations. Careers. Other team members. A new life. Rick exhaled slowly, and stubbed his cigarette out on the windowsill.

“Can I bring my van?”

“You can park it in the lawn for all I care.”

Sniper smiled a little, in spite of himself. “And if I say no?”

“Then I leave.”

“And if I say yes?”

“You come home with me, Rick.”

Rick swallowed tightly, glancing out the window at the city skyline, in the distance.

“Yeah. I’ll come home, Renee.”

Spy took a long drag on his cigarette.

“Alright.”

“Alright.”

Sniper began to dismantle his rifle with easy, practiced motions. Spy’s hand on his shoulder gave him pause, and he turned, eyebrow raised. He immediately found his lips occupied with Renee’s, and he smiled, leaning into the kiss.

“Missed you too, Spook.”

 


End file.
